No Matter What, I Will Love You
by Bottle of Starlight
Summary: After all that had been done, he simply couldn't leave him.
1. Prologue

_Hm, daring to try a song-based Fanfiction, am I? I know stories like these tend to be a little...boring and whatnot, since usually it is just a story with lyrics inserted at random places. So, I took a slightly different approach. I actually have a few of these, but I like how this one turned out, so I decided to post it. _

_ Any derogatory or rude/plain mean comments will be deleted, so please refrain from doing so. Constructive criticisms are welcome. _

_ Transformers and the characters used in this story belong to Hasbro/Hastak. The song 'Talk' is property of Coldplay._

* * *

><p>Oh, brother I can't-<p>

"I can't get through," a black and white Datsun panted in the near absolute darkness, the white patches of his paint flashing in ghostly luminescence. He had his shoulder pressed against a solid mass of fallen rocks, and his feet were planted firmly in the ground. The sounds of battle faded and became more distant with every passing second.

The Datsun gave another firm heave, his hydraulics squealing and joints straining. Finally, after one last shove, the black and white door panels lowered marginally in defeat and he slid down the invariable wall to slump on the floor of the cave.

"Don't give up, Prowl! I promise we'll get you out of there!" Bluestreak's young voice pierced the dusty murk from the other side, muffled and filled with panic. At those words, Prowl's processor began whirring, computing the probability of him getting out of here alive.

The statistics were grim.

"I'm scared," Prowl breathed as his armored body succumbed to child-like shaking at this revelation. "Primus, I'm so scared."

"It's alright buddy!" This time it was Jazz who shouted through the rock, easily recognizable by his PolyHexian drawl.

_I'm going to deactivate down here, _Prowl couldn't help but think, his trembling intensifying.

Brother, I can't get through,

"Bluestreak, I thought I told ya to go get Optimus and his bunch so we could get Prowl outta there!" Jazz exclaimed, frustration edging his melodic voice. Bluestreak whipped his head around to stare at Jazz intensely, his big blue optics swirling with a multitude of emotions, fear being predominant.

"I can't leave him," he stated simply but tightly. The young Sniper continued his hand-digging at the base of the rock pile, the stars of Earth flashing on his grey armor plating.

"Why?" That simple question ripped through the air like a dull knife, and the world stood still. Bluestreak turned to face Jazz with terrifying slowness, his emotionally void face so reminiscent of Prowl's.

"Because he is my brother." Suddenly, the ground under Jazz shook with an imaginary earthquake at the revelation.

It simply made sense.

"He wanted to keep it a secret, because if the Decepticons knew, they would surely try to deactivate me," Bluestreak clarified, his voice quiet and simple. He shook his head and his own door panels hung so low they physically scraped the dark and imposing ground. "And that's why I can't leave him, not after all he's done for me."

I'm so scared for the future…

And I don't know what to do...

_I can't get through…_

* * *

><p><em>Should I continue this? Let me know!<em>


	2. Chapter 1: The Survivors

_ As you can see, I have decided to go ahead and added another chapter! At first I kind if played around with this being a one-shot, but it certainly has more potential than that so I went and wrote more._

_ This chapter came out shorter than intended, but that's fine. I kind of like how it came out. Hope you like it!_

_The Transformers Generation 1 franchise and characters used below are property of Hasbro/Hastak. The story line in mine, so please refrain from posting this elsewhere without my given permission. Any rude or derogatory comments and/or reviews will be deleted. Constructive criticisms are welcome. Thank you._

* * *

><p>"Retreat!" The gravelly voice of Megatron rang out, and the sounds of various brands of thruster powering up ripped through the air as the brigade of Decepticons made their getaway. The battlefield was riddled with burns, and splattered with the glowing pink energon of fallen soldiers who Ratchet was frantically tending to.<p>

The attack had been vicious, and while it had appeared to be relatively unplanned, it had caused serious casualties. And while most seemed convinced this was simply another one of Megatron's impulse ambushes, Smokescreen wasn't so easily sold.

_It was too convenient, _he thought to himself while he took a mental head tally. Too many had fallen, and the scale of the attack was simply too large for it to be random. Plus the communication lines were still jammed, even after Soundwave had left. The Diversionary Tactician spun on his heel, scanning the entire charred swath of land for the rest of the group.

_Hound, Mirage, Ratchet…wait, where's Bluestreak? _This thought sent a bolt of panic that seized his muscle cabling; he loved the little Gunner, and could go so far as to say the fellow Praxian was like a little brother to him. He was a survivor of the destruction of Praxus, his and Bluestreak's home city.

And Prowl's.

The edge of Smokescreen's lip curled up in a sneer at that thought. He too had been found in the smoking rubble of a fallen apartment building, not far from where Bluestreak had been recovered, but unlike the sensitive Gunner, Prowl simply brushed everything off and busied himself with work, refusing to answer any questions regarding his family. In Smokescreen's opinion, he was an insensitive drone.

Outwardly scowling now, the red and blue Datsun set off to search for his adopted brother.

* * *

><p>The scuffling outside had long since stopped, and now there was only agitated murmuring. Not that Prowl really cared; he just wanted out. Now. This confined and dark place was too much like when Praxus had virtually fallen on him, dank and unmoving and splattered with energon.<p>

"Primus," he ground out shakily, his armor plating vibrating against the impenetrable walls of the cave. Curse this planet and its strong metal alloys. Curse it to the Pit, and then send it to Unicron to be properly disposed of. Anything that brought out his emotions like this deserved the worst kind of punishment.

Prowl let his head fall between his shoulders, his optics gazing at the floor in a daze. He was losing energon, and a lot of it. The pool beneath his knees kept growing, like some reincarnation of a youngling's dark fears out to get him. It swallowed planes of his armor and spread its pink stickiness into his joints, and the smell made him nauseated.

I can't-

_No, _Prowl reprimanded himself, immediately cutting off that dark train of thought. He couldn't give up. He simply couldn't.

For Bluestreak.

* * *

><p>"Bluestreak!" Smokescreen shouted when he finally found his adopted brother doing…something at the base of what looked like a rock fall. That Gunner looked up when his name was called, and alarmingly, his big blue optics were filled with panic.<p>

"Smokey! We got to get him outta here!" The young mech blurted out, pawing at the rocks again with renewed vigor.

"Get him out? What's going on?" Smokescreen parroted, a pang of fear running through his spark.

"Use your head, Smokes! We got an injured mech stuck behind these rocks, and there's no way he can get out!" Jazz exclaimed, exasperated by his team mate's absentmindedness.

"You got to go get Optimus, or we'll never get Prowl out!" Bluestreak added, his door panels hiking up high on his back in a visual show of stress. Smokescreen's did something much the same, but for completely different reasons.

"Prowl's in there?" The red and blue asked slowly, to which Bluestreak nodded rapidly. There was a tense moment of silence before Smokescreen turned on his heel.

"I'll see what I can do," he said over one shoulder, leaving the two other mechs bewildered in the dark, unsure what to do.

* * *

><p><em>Reviews make my day!<em>


	3. Chapter 2: Break

_ This took a little longer to update than I had initially intended; Life decided it was going to be mean and throw all it had at me. Nonetheless, I did manage to get it done within a semi-appropriate timeframe, and I truly hope you all enjoy this chapter! I decided to play with the points of views a little, if only to expand upon the reactions of others. Anyway, as always, enjoy!_

_ Transformers Generation 1 and all the characters mentioned below are property of Hasbro/Hastak. The storyline is mine. Please refrain from posting this on any public websites or places without my given permission. Any rude or plain mean comments will be deleted. Constructive criticisms are welcome. Thank you._

* * *

><p>A ticking erupted from the heavy silence, counting down to what felt like ultimate oblivion. His vision whited out as a blast rang through the cave, and the echoes, intensified by the small space, shorted out his audio receivers. There was a terrible white noise, vibrating in his head at the highest C. Blobs moved around, and there was the distinct feeling of hands grabbing and tugging on his armor.<p>

Prowl let his head loll to one side, and vaguely recognized he was being carried. The firm grip suggested someone strong and large, and a glimpse of solid red confirmed his holder as Ironhide. From what little his processor was able to register at this point, the Weapon Specialist looked grim, and there was a hint of barely contained worry lighting his optics so they shone a little brighter than normal. There was the sound of panic somewhere to his right, but he couldn't quite pin body to the blurred voice. Streaks of varying colours interrupted Prowl's vision, and abruptly everything was a re-enactment of the horrors of Praxus. The explosions, the pain, oh Primus, oh Primus...

"Calm down, kid!" Ironhide exclaimed when the injured Tactician in his arms suddenly made a strangled choking noise and began to twitch convulsively. Bluestreak made an alarmed squeak and jumped back, his hands flying up in instinctual defence. Ratchet, whom had been waiting tensely just past the entrance of the cave, regarded the Gunner before turning his attention to Prowl. The Medic hovered his hands for a moment over the Tactician's now singed chest plates, turning and transforming a second later.

"Load him in," came the tight command from the dashboard. With deft swiftness and surprising gentleness, Ironhide did as he was told, laying the injured and obviously delirious Tactician inside the Ratchet's large cabin. The moment Ironhide pulled his arms away, the door snapped shut and Ratchet peeled away with a screech of his tires and thick plume of exhaust and smoke from burned rubber, a frantic Bluestreak revving his engine hard in an effort to catch up. With a strained sigh, Ironhide followed suit. He heard the sounds of transformation and the rumbling of engines as the rest of the team did as he did, the group travelling in sobered silence; Prowl, their ever-stoic and presumably unbreakable Second in Command, was having a mental breakdown. That realization alone was so absurd, and Ironhide refused to let himself dwell on the subject. It was simply too strange; while Prowl had been trapped in that cave for a while, and had probably been in a fair amount of pain, it didn't explain why he had become so mentally stressed. Then again, the Tactician didn't exactly get out on the field very often, so perhaps this was something of a wake-up call?

Ironhide continued to mull in the heavy silence that blanketed the troop for the entire trip back to their crashed ship of a base, but easily switched his focus to the present as soon as Ratchet screeched to a halt, Bluestreak zooming past presumably to alert Optimus. Ironhide was quick to grab a quietly moaning Prowl when the door opened, and Ratchet transformed the moment his patient vacated his cabin. The light and hurried tapping of a mech running down the corridor indicated Firstaid's presence before he even came into view, and random intermittent squeaks were tell-tale signs of a gurney being pushed along.

The Medic in training, as predicted, came in a harried rush down the hall, his vents heaving to cool his stressed frame. Ratchet made a sharp movement with his head and Ironhide followed the silent instruction without question; in this type of situation, it was simply better not to hesitate when the CMO gave one an order. And with Prowl now safely strapped to the gurney, Ratchet proceeded to rush down the hall with Firstaid tailing him, small dots of energon staining the floor from where it had dripped from Prowl's fingers.

Ironhide remained rooted to the spot, his processor more shaken than he was willing to admit. Despite this, the Weapon Specialist gave his head a slight shake before directing his attention to the dead-quiet soldiers behind him, issuing an order to go about their business. As the masses dispersed, Ironhide remained at the entrance of the base, his thoughts leading him to places he'd rather not visit.

* * *

><p>The Medbay hummed quietly with various machines, but the air was far from relaxed. Wheeljack waited beside the nearest berth, having rushed from the battle after being given orders to prepare the Medbay. Briefly, the Engineer relished in what could only be called the calm before the storm, but the relative silence was short-lived as the double-doors were suddenly thrown open, a gurney being forced through with remarkable speed. Wheeljack jumped at the sudden intrusion despite having known before hand what was to come. He calmly stepped aside, seeing but not really observing exactly who was being placed on the medical berth; years of experience as Ratchet's unofficial helper had forced an almost nonchalance when it came to after-battle surgeries. As the body was hoisted from the gurney and prepped for surgery, however, Wheeljack nearly recoiled when a terrified keening filled the air.<p>

Prowl was...keening? Realization hit the Engineer like a tidal wave, and his blue optics widened marginally when he consciously took in the tattered frame for the first time. The damage was extensive, but not necessarily life-threatening, so Wheeljack wasn't entirely sure what the big rush was for. He stepped back and could only observe when Ratchet came back with an I.V being pulled along behind, Firstaid closing the restraints around Prowls ankle and wrist joints before the needle was inserted into a major energon line in his neck. A terrified, strangled noise ripped from Prowls vocalizer, and Wheeljack flinched at the primal sound. Something was off...something had happened and this put the Engineer on the uncomfortable edge. With a hard shake of his head, he glanced at Ratchet when the Medic spoke:

"Let's get to work."

* * *

><p><em>This is the longest chapter yet! I apologize if it seems a little bumpy, but I'm just setting everything up for what is to come. No worries, it will only get better (not for Prowl, though, that's for sure)! Reviews are very much appreciated!<em>


	4. Chapter 3: Enigma

_Sorry it took me so long to update! Life decided to hit me full force and I hadn't the time to work on this! No worries, I am back with an update, and hopefully the chapters will come a little more frequently. Enjoy!_

_Transformers if property of Hasbro/Hastak. Any characters mentioned in this chapter are not mine. The story and plot line is mine. Please refrain from posting this story anywhere else without my given permission. Comments and constructive criticism is welcomed, but any derogatory or plain rude comments will be deleted. Thank you._

* * *

><p>Silence finally reigned over the Medbay, the rhythmic beeping of various machines the only noise permeating the large room.<p>

Bluestreak sat in the waiting room outside the public set of double-doors, his head cradled in his hands and elbows resting upon his knees. This was too much, it was all too much...

With a gusting sigh, the Gunner straightened, stretching the stiff joints that held his door panels to his back. The look on Prowl's face...it had been spark-breaking, the anguish and fear so seldom seen. It had hit straight to the core and pierced his motherboard. The Tactician was always so composed, so stoic, and was solid as a rock, so to see him like this had been a shock to everyone who just so happened to be in the hall when Ratchet had rushed by with the gurney being pushed before him. The droplets of energon still hadn't been wiped from the floor, but no one, not even Hound, felt inclined to.

"You should get some recharge; it's been a long day." The voice of Smokescreen from beside him made the Gunner jump a bit, but he quickly slumped forward again and shook his head in his hands.

"Can't. Have to keep watch for Prowl," Bluestreak responded feebly, and resisted minimally when he felt the Gambler tug him to his feet by the door panel joint, gently but firm enough to let him know what was wanted of him. Smokescreen released a gust of air from his vents sharply, sounding almost exasperated.

"Prowl is fine, I'm sure. But right now the most important thing is you," Smokescreen insisted, guiding his adopted little brother in front and out into the main hall. In a burst of uncharacteristic stubbornness, Bluestreak dug his heels into the floor and caused the two to come to a stuttering stop.

"No, I'M fine. Prowl isn't," the young mech replied, his door panels stiffening and hiking up into an agitated V shape. He shook off his surrogate older brother's hand and tried to march around, now fully intent to wait in the waiting room until Prowl was released.

"Bluestreak." That commanding tone stopped him in his tracks, the not-so-old youngling protocols reactivating and telling him to listen when someone spoke like that. Head bowed, he turned slowly to face Smokescreen, his arms dangling in limp defeat at his sides. Silently, Smokescreen came forward and placed his hand on Bluestreak's shoulder, firmly and with a touch of authority.

"Come, off to recharge," the Gambler stated more than requested, and together the duo traversed the halls to recharge.

* * *

><p>Ratchet stared down at the deathly still body beneath him and wiped his hands on a cleaning cloth. The black and white armor, after a few hours of work, was now whole, and while there were ragged welds, energon, and dull and scratched paint all over, Prowl was no longer thrashing around in delirium, having effectively been knocked out by injection.<p>

"That was...something," Firstaid mumbled the foot of the medical berth, his hands twitching and fiddling nervously with themselves. Ratchet heaved another sigh.

"I wish I knew why he went berserk like that. Then I would feel a little better about this situation. Something just isn't lining up, if you ask me," the Medic rumbled, his brow furrowing in thought. After a tense moment of silence, Firstaid muttered something about needing to clean the medical instruments and went off to do just that. Ratchet continued trying to solve his inner puzzle, choosing to be oblivious to his apprentice's actions. Something wasn't right, something was out of line, something...

* * *

><p><em>Smoke curled intensely around in the air, gripping the walls and the jagged edges of fallen walls. The world was muted, only a high C buzzing in the background. Light flashed about, and glowing liquid spewed and sloshed about in slow motion. The bodies fell, fell, fell...<em>

_ And with a scream he could not hear, Prowl was engulfed in darkness._

* * *

><p>Comments? Criticisms? Leave a review!<p> 


	5. Chapter 4: Comatose

_ I am back...finally. Sorry for the wait everyone! Life got in the way of writing this and, admittedly, I lost my muse for a bit. But fear not! I have not given up on this story, and fully intend to finish it; I have the entire plot set out so in the end it will be done. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!_

_ The Transformers Generation 1 franchise and character used below are property of Hasbro/Hastak. The story line is mine, so please refrain from posting this elsewhere without my given permission. Any rude or derogatory comments and/or reviews will be deleted. Constructive criticisms welcome. Thank you._

* * *

><p>Black.<p>

Empty.

FLASH.

Error messages blocked out any image from the outside world, a hazy sea of red. One pulsed insistently:

_ SYSTEM SCAN: ACCEPT OR DECLINE?_

_Accept, _came the automatic response, a large black box popping up with scrawling white glyphs that slithered up as more were scrawled below. One by one, the red error messages turned green and blipped from his vision, slowly revealing the realm beyond his mind.

_CENTRAL DAMAGE; LOWER CHEST: REPAIRED_

_ENERGON LEVELS: 98% CAPACITY_

_SENSORY PANELS; INNER: REPAIRED_

_PROCESSING ERROR: REPAI-P-AA…AI….SYSTEM REBOOT: ACCEPT OR DECLINE?_

With a dull hum, systems came to life from the static drone of stasis as gears shifted and muscle cabling tensed and stretched. Prowl twitched his sensory panels-which seemed to be pressed under his body-while his optics flickered sporadically online with a quiet beep and the whirr of inner mechanisms. Idly, he lolled his helm from one side to the other and recognized that he was in the Medical Bay; an IV was tapped into a major artery in his elbow, and his extremities had been strapped down.

_ Odd, _the Tactician thought as he shifted his spinal strut in discomfort. How long had he been laying here? A quick check of his chronometer told him he'd been in stasis for…5 orns! A panicked feeling sliced through his spark at the amount of time he'd been out, quickly replaced with a light resignation as he thought of the amount of work he'd missed. Wishing to be released so he could get caught up, he vented the brown dust that had settled in his intakes, creating a pluming cloud of tiny particles.

"Ratchet," Prowl called out, wondering why the Medic didn't have the machines set up so as to alert him when his patients awoke. Venting more dust, he tried again, louder this time. "Ratchet." No response.

It was dead quiet in that little berth, the liquid in the IV not making a sound as it dripped it's pink self down the thin tube and into its host.

_Drip, drip, drip._

Pink began to ooze from the ceiling, the colour saturating the orange metal and collecting in goopy sacks. The sacks burst with a wet _plip_, and the ooze spilled down the walls and on to the floor in some messy river. More came from the patchwork-cracks and leaked down on Prowl's head, the taste as it slid into his mouth like energon: liquid lightning and living energy. More burst from the walls and sloshed on the floor, the glow becoming so bright it hurt his optics.

Prowl tried to move, to scream, only to find he couldn't. His body was paralyzed, and despite his processor's mad attempts to writhe around in fear and screech at an impossibly high decibel, the gears refused to budge. What remained of the walls behind the pink gooeyness turned a burnt black, flakes of metal and damaged things being carried with the energon.

As the pink evilness of life rose over his face, Prowl screamed into the desperate nothingness.

* * *

><p>"Prowl! Snap out of it!" Ratchet shouted as he snapped his fingers near the Tactician's audio receptor, trying to rouse him when medical induction had failed. First Aid looked on nervously, unsure what he should be doing other than watching the deathly still Cybertronian as his processor activity took another massive spike on the monitor. Grunted in tense displeasure, the CMO grabbed a scalpel and positioned it above Prowl's sensory panel.<p>

"Ratchet?" First Aid queried in a small voice. Ratchet frowned.

"Sorry, Prowl," the Medic said as he plunged the scalpel into the sensitive metal.

Not even a twitch.

* * *

><p><em>Comments? Criticisms? Leave a review!<em>


	6. Chapter 5: Awake Yet Dreaming

_...__I am so sorry. I truly did intend to get another chapter up much sooner than this, but it just didn't happen. This chapter was actually mostly finished and just sitting on my computer for the longest time, and it was only recently that I got around to finishing it. This chapter might be a bit boring, but think of it as the calm before storm (insert evil laugh here). I am honestly not sure how long this story will end up being, but I have an outline written out and I can say it will probably end up being more than fifteen chapters. Excited? Good! For those of you who have been following this story from the beginning, thank you! That was what encouraged me to keep going and I am so thankful for all of your support! Enough of my rambling; on to the next chapter! I hope you all enjoy it!_

_The Transformers Generation 1 franchise and characters used below are property of Hasbro/Hastak. The story line in mine, so please refrain from posting this elsewhere without my given permission. Any rude or derogatory comments and/or reviews will be deleted. Constructive criticisms are welcome. Thank you._

* * *

><p>What was the point of life?<p>

Prowl mulled over this thought slowly in his processor, which was getting more sluggish with every drop of energon that bled from his frame. His battle computer seized for a moment before falling dormant once more to preserve energy. This was how Prowl had been staying awake for the past few…joors? Orns? The Tactician couldn't tell anymore. Perhaps it had only been a few kliks, but with his chronometer shut down for energy preservation, he had absolutely no way to tell time in this near absolute darkness. The only thing shedding light in the cavern was the glowing puddle of his life blood.

With a demented chuckle-snort, he weighed the idea of drinking from this dirty puddle, but decided against it as a separate part of his processor spat out 10 reasons why that was a bad idea. Idly, his fingers probed the long-since-numb injury at the base of his chestplate and felt the slow ooze of energon from the punctured lines and tubing. He withdrew his shaking fingers and observed the thick pink liquid drip from them, landing on the dusty floor.

_ Plip. Plop. _

Is this a dream?

Darkness pressed on the edge of his sticky vision, which was quickly turning red with error messages declaring imminent stasis lock and critical energon loss.

_Save me…_he thought as palpable blackness overtook the shadows.

* * *

><p>A medical alarm suddenly going off made First Aid nearly jump out of his armor. The Medic in Training recovered himself quickly and ran over to the source, finding Prowl sitting up and venting in rapid cycles. His optics were hyper-bright and wide, and his frame shook while he stared unseeingly as the wall across from him.<p>

"Prowl!" First Aid exclaimed, pushing him firmly back into the berth. With a sudden shake of his head, the Tactician seemed to snap out of his trance and his venting slowed slightly, his optics dimming to normal levels and shaking becoming nonexistent.

"First Aid? What…happened." It came out as more of a request for information than a question, but the trainee didn't care at the moment. Pinging Ratchet with his communication link, First Aid did a quick scan and sent that in a data packet to the Medic before explaining cautiously.

"You…were injured in battle. You've been in stasis for an Earth week…do you remember?" he asked, adjusting the IV tubing that had become tangled around Prowl's arm. Silence grabbed hold of the Praxian with its eerie fist. First Aid shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do. With a quick glance at the monitor at the head of the berth, the Trainee saw Prowl's processor activity spike and plummet, spike and plummet…

"No." Prowl paused and looked troubled for a brief moment before his face smoothed back into its usual stoic mask. "I have a hole in my memory banks starting from 7 Earth days ago." At this point, Ratchet came clumping out from his office at a brisk pace, his frame tense.

"First Aid, get the processor scanner for me," the Medic requested, holding his hand out as the aforementioned piece of equipment was placed in it. Just as Ratchet was about to run a deep processor scan, the activity spikes dropped to within normal levels, negating the necessity of a deep (and notoriously uncomfortable, on that count) processor scan.

_Plip, plop._

Prowl flicked his head slightly to one side as if trying to hear something, his brow slightly furrowed. His processor activity jumped mildly before falling again. With a small shake of his head, the Tactician returned his attention to the now worried Medic and Trainee.

"When am I to be released?" He asked simply, moving to put his feet on the ground. With a protesting noise, Ratchet pushed the SIC back down into a laying position.

"When I say so. Now get some rest," Ratchet commanded almost softly, adjusting the IV drip before walking away and leaving First Aid to clean. Prowl briefly contemplated arguing with the temperamental medic, but quickly decided against it; Ratchet was not only widely known for his medical miracles, but also for his sharp tongue and incredible ability to practically make anyone do anything with his unparalleled wit. Heaving a sigh, the Praxian resigned himself to the coming days of sedentary boredom, deciding, with a twinge in his processor, that the orns after being released would be dedicated strictly to catching up on his work. Speaking of which...

"Who is covering my position?" Prowl asked First Aid, who jumped involuntarily at the sudden question before recovering himself.

"Oh, Optimus assigned Jazz to cover what he could, and handed all the tactical work to Smokescreen," the Trainee responded, pausing a moment before continuing, "everyone figured that he was the most qualified, besides you of course. He did train under your division at some point, right? At least, that's what I heard." First Aid held the Tactician's mildly incredulous gaze for a second longer before shaking his head sharply and refocusing on his job. Prowl relaxed back and mulled over this information, the twinge in his processor biting sharply like a cyber-mouse.

_Interesting, _he thought through the haze that took over his processor as the sudden need to recharge made its presence known, _how very interesting._

* * *

><p><em>Thoughts? Criticisms? Leave a review! <em>


End file.
